


Nowhere In Particular

by jollybee



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Chim is a little sad, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, So yeah, a rather brief developement of feelings, bUT DONT YOU WORRY YOONGI TO THE RESCUE, driving through the night, just a little soft something, this is cheesy and so /soft/ oh g o d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 06:17:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollybee/pseuds/jollybee
Summary: Yoongi grips the steering wheel a little tighter, stepping onto the gas pedal. “Next stop:” he announces loudly, “Nowhere.” Jimin’s smile cracks into an ever bigger one. “Please fasten your seatbelt, Sir.”





	Nowhere In Particular

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ari - my angel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ari+-+my+angel).



> I actually planned to post a pretty great first fic for the kpop community, but instead I'll just publish this raw little something! I really, really hope you like it and please let me know what you think of it!!! I'm a little nervous because of the long period of time I haven't posted anything. (⊃‿⊂)
> 
> [Reminder: English is not my mother language, but please feel free to inform me about errors!]
> 
> This is for my angel, Ari. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

* * *

 

 

**N O W H E R E    I N    P A R T I C U L A R**

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _October, 1998._  
_South Korea._

 

 

“Jimin!“ the shrill yell resonates through the house, bouncing off the walls and bursting asunder in the cracks of wooden staircases and in between keyholes.

Park Hyerim hangs her woolen coat on the hallstand as she shuffles excitedly through the narrow corridor, auburn hair a picture-perfect mess tousled by October’s chilly gust. The red of her lipstick had been kissed away and the pale skin of her cleavage is seared by a deep blush that sprouts further upwards along her neck and up to the tips of her ears.

She yells again into the silence of her home, “Jimin!“ An echo doesn’t come as the sound is swallowed up by thick cement, and Hyerim’s face twists into one of confusion for a moment, the crinkles on her forehead not quite the fit for her youthful face. She drops the keys on the table of the hallstand and the white pearl earrings of her mother, too. The clinking sound is almost unbearable loud in the quiet that surrounds her. “Jimin?“

The peaked navy high heels of patent leather clatter over the parquet like bickering rain before they are carelessly thrown next to a pair of chic lace-ups that had been almost begging to be bought last week from their space behind the yellowed display windows of ajumma Choi’s dusty boutique. The two lightbulbs dangling off the ceiling lamp flicker weakly.

Hyerim pads up the stairs now, the silken fabric of her dress flinging around her calves with every so slightest movement and the wood wailing beneath her bare soles. The pads of her fingers dance over the abrasive handrail, a pitter-patter that scuttles higher and higher along the wood until it eventually reaches its end. The young woman finally musters a smile, plush lips the color of cherry wine, as she sees the thin line of light, all warm and yellow and pushing itself through the narrow cracks beneath the closed door of her son’s bedroom.

She knocks – once, and twice – knuckles leaving a faint sound that gets no response.

“Jimin?” she calls out meekly, while turning the doorknob just the slightest bit. The door opens with a faint creak, revealing a wave of more warm light that now paints bland lines against the austere dark walls behind Hyerim, as well as along the left side of her face, from her hairline to the bottom of her receding chin.

She peaks inside the room, more and more light flooding out of its secure four walls and pouring out into the hallway instead. She nearly felt it caress her bare arms and feet.

“Jimin-ah, are you already asleep?” she murmurs softly, the gap finally large enough to make out the crouched form of her son, curled in on himself on top of the thick cotton covers of his bed, back turned towards the door. She watches his deep breathing push against the sides of his rib cage, charcoal hair squashed against the sprung mattress and socks discarded on the bare deck boards covering the floor.

Still not receiving any form of answer, she sends a last sweet smile towards her son, it being blocked off by the shell of his body, throwing it back and making Hyerim turn off the lights before finally closing the door again. The thin trail of light beneath the door is gone now and no sign of it left in the hollow corridor, no thin lines of warmth, no yellow reminder of a presence.

Hyerim makes her way down the stairs again, bare soles almost inaudible as they pad down the wooden steps.

 

Meanwhile Jimin opens his eyes inside his room, the walls entirely dark now as the moon peaks through the glass of his windows, softly kissing the bow of his lips and the tip of his nose. A tingle of guilt nags at the boy’s sides, a piercing voice jumping from ear to ear, putting him to shame. He couldn’t even look his own mother in the eye anymore. Jimin couldn’t pretend to not notice the blooming purple shadows unfurling against the paleness of her neck anymore, the bite marks of strangers, the invisible open-mouthed kisses of men who weren’t his own father.

So now he stares at the cacti on his windowsill, black spines protruding against the ghostly glow of the moon.

And he lies awake for a while, for hours even. He hears the sink running in the bathroom, the faint creaking opening of its small cabinet and the slowly faltering padding along the hallways which ends with the closing of another door, not far from Jimin’s.

The moon stands higher now and has put on his coat, grey and thin, the clouds keeping him warm in such chilly October night.

And now Jimin sighs, rolling onto his back – another sigh – and sitting up eventually. His hair is a mess, dark strands either flat or chaotically sticking out, and sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, the seam of its collar already loose and worn-out. There are bags beneath his sharp eyes, dark shadows that are hidden under the already heavy darkness sitting in the room, crawling into the corners and watching the boy stand up with a heave of his chest now. His bare soles leave a faint drizzle as they hit the floor and scamper through the silent house and over its kitchen’s naked tiles.

Jimin throws a quick glance over his shoulder before he sits down at the head of the dining table, the cellphone placed on its surface. It makes quirky noises with every digit he presses and the final connecting sound seems almost too loud in the quiet of the night.

It rustles on the other end of the line and Jimin knows that his call had been accepted. He can’t help but feel a little less lonely now, a little less sad, as well.

“Shorty,” a raucous voice speaks up, muffled through the receiver, but making Jimin’s chest engulf flourishing sunflowers he wasn’t aware of during this time of the year, “what’s up? Isn’t it past your bedtime already?”

Any other day Jimin would have rolled his eyes at such remark, but today was different. The boy feels beaten down, a little too feeble in the bones and a little weak in the heart, as well. With his free hand he picks at the white paint of the dining table, which is slowly coming off, flaking and peeling and leaving empty spots on the raw wood as it dances towards the floor instead.

Jimin swallows the thick lump inside his throat. “Pick me up, hyung?” he croaks hopefully, a bit of paint sticking to the inside of his nails now.

“Pick you up?” it comes back just slightly teasing, “It’s already past midnight, Jiminie.”

And Jimin knows. He knows it’s so late and calling the other that late couldn’t be considered quite normal and he would worry or ask further – Jimin knows, he knows, but– “I don’t care, hyung,” he murmurs quietly, white flakes of paint dancing waltz on their way down onto the bare tiles right next to his naked feet, “please.”

And for a moment he doesn’t get a response, just the faintest sound of an exhale before, “Alright, but put on something warm.”

 

So that is what he does. Jimin scurries silently through the narrow corridor, grabbing a grubby pair of boots and the ugly red fleece jacket his grandmother gifted him for his last birthday. His loose pants nearly cover the tips of his shoes, only two strings of dirty laces sticking out at each side, and the long sleeves of his sweatshirt poke out beneath the glaring red fleece, even reaching up to his fingertips.

He leaves a sandy trail on the floor on his way out of the house, front door falling shut behind him with a single faint thud, and the dirt from his shoes covers up a few letters on the dirty doormat. Shuffling down the stairs of the porch, Jimin shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his pants. And as further away he gets from the secure four walls of his own he feels October become colder, a gush of wind combing through his black locks with its lithe fingers and pulling at the tiny hairs of his nape in the progress.

The street in front of his house is empty, soulless and swept off of any form of life. Behind the windows of his neighbors Jimin can see the night rummage, every light turned off and the louvered blinds down. He almost hears it rustling through the small leaves of shrubs lined up in front of each low garden gate.

For a minute he shivers as the night swallows him up wholly and his teeth clatter just the slightest bit until there are two lurid yellow lights nearing, becoming bigger and bigger as they ungraciously hop up and down the uneven road and closer towards Jimin, accompanied by the awful howling roar of an engine. The terribly dented truck comes to a shrill halt right next to Jimin and next there is a head popping out of its window.

Min Yoongi bares his gums as he grins down at the younger from his seat behind the steering wheel. “Hop in, shorty.” He hits the car’s rusty metal once, making Jimin scurry towards the passenger seat.

The younger doesn’t even notice he’s smiling until he lets the door fall shut behind him, eventually slumping down into the run-down cushion of the passenger seat with a content sigh.

The engine roars loudly, both boys jumping just the slightest bit in their seats as the old truck fights with itself.

Yoongi grips the steering wheel a little tighter, stepping onto the gas pedal. “Next stop:” he announces loudly, “Nowhere.” Jimin’s smile cracks into an ever bigger one. “Please fasten your seatbelt, Sir.”

 

And as they set off everything Jimin can do is watch the mailbox of his house slowly pass and disappear behind a row of other ones; a few lacquered in white, others in blue.  And what is left behind him is left behind with a few silly troubles that Jimin can forget about in the passenger seat of Yoongi’s dented truck.

The cold wind whistles through the car as the windows hang at half-mast, the winders for each broken off or nonfunctional. Jimin’s hair becomes even messier, the dark strands flying in the passing wind and cheeks flushing a rosy tint in the unpleasant coolness. Right next to him Yoongi struggles with keeping his cap on, pulling it lower once in a while as the front of it nearly hangs down his neck, the clasp pressing against his exposed forehead. He is focused on the road, the headlights only showing small glimpses of what Yoongi would have wanted to see. And Jimin leans against the headrest, closing his eyes, because out there is not actually anything to see as it is wrapped up in blackness anyway.

He feels at ease, Yoongi right beside him as the car radio rustles Yangpa’s ‘Young Love’ out of poor speakers and cuts off the connection once in a while. Jimin feels light, a little less worried about what happens at home while he is simply going nowhere in particular, just sitting on four wheels that sweep over the streets of his neighborhood and further out of the town.

And then after a few moments he opens his eyes, just a soft flutter of lashes, and turns his head just the slightest bit so that he can look at the older. Yoongi keeps his eyes fixed on the road, one hand coming to tug at the cap almost flying off his head and the other securely gripping at the wheel. Jimin hides a tiny crooked smile.

“Hyung?”

A hum comes in response, low and gruff.

Jimin crinkles his nose. “How long does it take to reach the beach?” he asks softly, gaze still sticking to the other’s blank face – the soft tip of Yoongi’s nose, the bow of his lips.

For the part of a second Yoongi turns his head, expression now showing surprise. “About twenty minutes, I guess,” he murmurs in return, before adding a curious, “Why? Want to go skinny dipping?”

A slight breathy chuckle slips out of Jimin, more of through his nose while his eyes crinkle. “No!” he exclaims loudly, a little silly as well, because of course, Yoongi had been joking. But his eyes stay on the older one, now finally seeing him crack a smile as well. “But I want to see the waves,” Jimin reasons finally.

Yoongi doesn’t even respond to that, not even when Jimin turns his head away again, looking ahead at the road, at the shops they pass, the cars and people even at such ungodly hour. Yoongi doesn’t even respond to that, but somehow Jimin has that feeling, that he’ll be driving towards the beach anyways.

 

However, he is sure of it only when he can eventually smell the sea – salt wafting through the air and picking up the scent of wet sand along the way. And as he hears the seagulls cry and cackle in the distance he is already ready to jump out of the truck, excitedly sliding forward inside his seat. His eyes grow bigger, face lit up, but unable to sense Yoongi’s smitten looks. 

The truck slowly halts near a small passage towards the coast, laths leading the way into soft sand. However, Yoongi hasn’t even turned off the engine before Jimin already hops out of the car, leaving the older behind with nothing but a loud slam of the truck’s door. Yoongi swears he sees a couple of seagulls fly off at the sudden sound and the rapid movements of the younger.

Because Jimin wastes no time as he hurriedly runs down the passage of wooden laths already drowning in an ocean filled with grains of sand. His boots clunk and swirl up the dirt with every step closer to the shore. Yoongi’s steps are calm and rather slow in comparison, a steady rhythm following right behind the pitter-patter created by Jimin.

“Jimin-ah, slow down, will you?” Yoongi calls after the younger as he watches him run off to the shore, the dirty boots now sinking into the sand like heavy stones, each step a little harder as the grit swallows them up greedily.

And the moon sits somewhere right above the crowns of their heads, casting gleaming trails of nonexistent stars down onto surface of the water, high waves flaring up shortly before sloshing back down again, creating an applause for an inexistent performance. The vigorous blows of the wind sweep through the sand, picking up its grains and carrying them into the wide sea. Billows rage further away and become weaker as they kiss the shore, nestling up to the grit and washing up shells and stones on the way, already embroidered with faint riffles and grooves from each touch of the sea.

And then there is Yoongi, thick boots sinking deeper into the sand and cap hanging backwards as he keeps his eyes focused on Jimin, only a few meters away. The younger exhales deeply as the tips of his shoes are kissed by the foaming salt water of the sea and the wind presses the material of his clothes as tight as possible against his body. The salt seemingly empties his head and kisses all worries away for just a moment meanwhile Jimin contently plops down into the sand, letting it absorb his thin form.

Yoongi draws his dark brows together at the sight of the younger sprawled in the sand like a starfish. “Really now, Jimin?” he asks out loud, finally getting closer before coming to a halt right next to the other, who doesn’t spare him a single glance but keeps his eyes shut instead. “Jiminie,” he calls out once more, almost scolding, “You are just going to get sick because of this.”

What he doesn’t expect however is a small pout forming on the other’s plush lips and the following meek “I don’t care.”

And what Jimin probably doesn’t expect is the faint thud next to him as Yoongi lies down right next to him, gaze narrow on nothing in particular. Maybe the moon?

And for a moment it is quiet between the two young men, their thoughts slowly drifting away with each wave being sucked in by October’s chilly breath. Until Yoongi dares to speak up, voice hoarse as he asks the younger, “What’s wrong, Jiminie?”

Jimin knows it would be pointless to tell the other that in fact ‘Nothing is wrong, Yoongi’, because they wouldn’t be right where there are right now – lying with their backs swimming in sand – in the middle of the night, if everything was just fine. Jimin knows it would be pointless to pretend that in fact ‘Nothing is bothering me, Yoongi’, because he wouldn’t have called in the first place if that was the case. Jimin knows it would be pointless to lie right now, but he can’t help but consider it.

Instead he says nothing, however, and maybe that was just a little bit wiser.

He opens his eyes, blinks up at the night sky and sadly notes that there are no stars to be seen, only dusty grey clouds.

Yoongi’s brows are still furrowed. “Is it your mother again?” he questions then and Jimin wishes the words could disappear into thin air instead of pestering his mind like nasty parasites.

The younger inhales, a little shaky, before he exhales, long and defeated. He feels the corners of his eyes start to burn and in just a second salty tears well up inside his eyes. He wishes he could say they were the sea’s instead.

“She just–” he weakly begins, but as soon as he started speaking he had given it up, too. And now he feels thick tears roll down his temples while an ugly sob rips through his chest, leaving him sniffling. He doesn’t expect Yoongi to scoot closer, neither to feel him embracing him, but that is exactly what the older does. Jimin’s head is being awkwardly cradled by two arms as he starts wailing more pathetically, nearly choking on his own words. “I – I don’t know how many more men she wants to meet!” he cries loudly, a little pat on his head making him close his eyes tighter, “I don’t want to leave her like my father, and neither how–“ a sniffle, sharp inhale, “how, how Jihyun.”

Yoongi sighs softly, patting Jimin’s head once more. “Your brother didn’t leave her, Jiminie, he–“

But Jimin cuts him off mid-sentence, eyes now wide and glassy, “Yes, he did!”

Another sigh. “He went off to college,” Yoongi reminds him gently, forehead in wrinkles, “He’s not gone.”

“But – but to her he is,” Jimin now croaks and suddenly he seems much more frail, a little bit like porcelain beneath the gloom that is casted down onto both men by the firmament arching right above them, “And now she has no-one left but me,” he continues weakly, “and I have to work two jobs at once to support her, because all she can think of is finding a new man, who will leave her after just one night.”

“Don’t say that, Jiminie,” Yoongi responds, “Your mother works hard to make sure you have everything you need.”

And Jimin doesn’t know what to say at that, feelings and emotions mixing up with the wilderness of his thoughts whirring through his head. Suddenly he feels horrible for bursting like this, for wording such thoughts about his own mother into the salty silence of the sea. Suddenly Jimin misses his younger brother, Jihyun. Suddenly the cold palm of Yoongi pressing against his left cheek makes him want to cry once more, a little uglier, a little less snotty.

“I know you probably feel drained,” Yoongi starts anew and his voice is low and husky and Jimin’s poor little heart is caught inside a storm, “but you are your mother’s backbone right now and I am so proud of you.”

The words make something twist inside Jimin’s stomach. It almost feels like a warm jar of honey had been cracked open, the syrupy liquid coating each and everything, its scent befuddling the sad boy’s senses. The tips of his ears flare up, heat rushing through his cheeks as he shyly nuzzles closer to Yoongi, hiding his face in the bow of his neck now.

The older shivers lightly as the cold tip of a nose presses into his skin.

“Hyung,” Jimin now silently murmurs and after receiving a low hum in return he asks, “What if I can’t support her anymore one day?”

Yoongi stares ahead at the row of clouds wrapping themselves around the half-moon. He almost forgot the sand beneath himself. “Don’t think about that, Jiminie,” he softly mumbles and he swears his heart dives the moment Jimin scoots even closer, “For now what matters is the present and you are doing a pretty great job right now, if I may say.”

“Stop praising me, hyung!”

And now Yoongi chuckles proudly, his breath mixing up with a ghostly waft of salt and innocent emotions washed ashore. “It’s the truth,” he breathes – where had his breath gone? “Accept a little compliment, shorty.”

“You know,” Jimin starts, scrunching his nose, “You are in no place to call me short, hyung.”

Jokingly Yoongi gasps. “What was that?” he asks teasingly and Jimin musters a joyful giggle at the added, “What I carry is interior might!”

Both of them release their breathy chuckles into thin air, letting them be carried away by the waves hitting the shore and drowning them into deeper water, right beneath the almost black surface that crawls up the sand and nearer to the soles of their boots like oil. Jimin faces the sky again, a breath sent upwards as his left arm winds itself around Yoongi’s middle. The tears dry slowly on his skin as the wind kisses the wet thin trails away.

With his eyes still focused on nothing in particular he murmurs a gentle, “Thank you for making me happy, hyung.”

And Yoongi splutters just a little bit in response, cheeks flaring up. “Ah, really, you rascal,” he chides for no reason, “Stop with the sweet talk or I might hit you!”

The words grow more quiet by the end as he notices Jimin turn onto his side, facing him with a blinding smile, both rows of pearly-whites on full display. Yoongi really can’t muster the courage to turn towards him as well – instead he feels like egg yolk on a hotplate, sizzling away in the sand out of sheer embarrassment. He wouldn’t mind a little midnight-swim in the sea to cool down right now.

Jimin’s eyes glisten with something raw beneath the faint gleam of the moon and while the tip of his nose is red because of the cold, his cheeks are red for an entirely different reason. “You can’t fool me with big words, hyung,” he softly murmurs, almost a whisper against the loud howling of the waves clapping and splashing. Yoongi shoots him an unsure side-glance as the younger comes even closer – a little too close.

Panicking, Yoongi shoves the other’s face away a little. “Yah!” he pathetically cries out loud, “What are you doing!”

And Jimin cackles, loud and carefree. “Your ears are so red, hyung!” he joyfully points out and Yoongi’s brows furrow. “That’s because it’s cold, idiot!”

When Yoongi shoots him another brief side-glance he can’t tell if Jimin’s eyes had always been sparkling like that or if they are still gleaming with unshed tears.

“I know it’s because of my charm anyway,” the younger now cheekily mumbles towards the moon and Yoongi’s brows raise so far up he is almost afraid they’ll disappear beneath the clasp of his cap. “What– What kind of charm?” he huffs, lips forming a pout, “Really.”

But Jimin doesn’t say anything afterwards, simply grinning at nothing in particular and Yoongi fears losing his composure just by looking at the younger. The sand doesn’t feel as soft beneath them as it did minutes ago and the black water crawls higher up the shore with each wave. The heels of their boots are being dipped into charcoal midnight liquid, but neither of them seems to notice, shells drowning again and again by their feet.

But Jimin is the one to break the calm once more, voice clear over the whispers of the sea. “Hyung,” he says, and Yoongi feigns a long sigh. “What is it now, rascal?”

However, he wouldn’t have expected what came next.

“When one day my mother can stand on her own I will disappear.”

Yoongi needs a second to register those words, just for a moment unable to tell if they’ve been actually said or simply were an illusion created by the hushing wind. He thinks them over, repeats them steadily to himself until he glances yet again shortly at the other, who is lying so close next to him, shoulders serried as they stay sprawled beneath the night sky.

“What are you talking, Jiminie?” he asks confusedly. Jimin doesn’t have to turn his face to tell that the elder’s brows are furrowed yet again, drawing an angry line on his usually so soft face.

And now Jimin sighs, still looking upwards. What is he even looking at? There is nothing there. “I just want to go somewhere else than the same four walls,” he reasons quietly, but somehow, the small smile never leaves his face, “I want to see other beaches, too, you know?”

But the confusion doesn’t ease up, still gripping Yoongi’s dark brows as they are drawn even closer. “Where would you even want to go?” he questions.

“Nowhere in particular.”

Yoongi doesn’t seem to understand, but he doesn’t question it further as well. Instead he shoots the clouds a glare, a huff able to make them scurry away. “Not while I’m around!” he voices stubbornly, “I’ll stick to you like chewing gum, Park Jimin.”

He doesn’t even notice Jimin’s smile brightening, eyes putting the hidden stars to shame. “I wouldn’t want it any other way, hyung,” he murmurs softly – oh, so very softly – and Yoongi wouldn’t want it any other way, either.

Maybe that’s why he reaches for Jimin’s smaller hand. Or maybe he just thinks it’s a little safer in the dark, where his terrible flushed face is just a little too hard to make out and the cold wind could be a pitiful excuse for it instead.

His lithe fingers gently grasp Jimin’s shorter ones and for a moment he fears Jimin would pull them away, but he doesn’t. Instead Jimin grabs Yoongi’s hand a little tighter, the apple of his cheeks taking on the color of ripened cherries as both pathetically hope for the cool wind to blow the heat out of their bodies.

Yoongi is the first one to break the silence now, seagulls probably cackling at him as he  pathetically croaks, “Your fingers are so cold,” before adding a small, “That’s what you get for not putting on gloves.” He’s at least trying to keep his cool, that is.

The corners of Jimin’s eyes crinkle at that, becoming even thinner with his dashing smile. “I don’t need gloves as long as I have your hands, hyung.” Yoongi feels his insides seething even more intensely now, a little scared that his heart might burst right through the cocoon of his ribcage. “My hands are cold, as well, idiot.”

And in return he receives a light giggle from the younger and a– Yoongi’s eyes widen comically at the sudden chaste kiss pressed to his left cheek. One slow blink, and another.

Another giggle from his side finally brings Yoongi back from the yawning void filling his head and immediately sweet tingles erupt on those parts of his pale skin that had just been kissed. He’s not going to compare the warm feelings inside his guts with sunflowers or warm honey, though.

“Where is your boldness, hyung?” Jimin whispers teasingly as he winds both of his arms around Yoongi’s left one, red fleece hugging black linen, “Has it been blown off to the sea?”

An unsure side-glance is gracing Jimin’s joyful face and Yoongi’s eyes dart from one cloud to the other when he finally turns away again. “Yah!” he huffs louder than necessary, “I dare you to say that again, Park Jimin!”

However, none of his words seem to be effective as there is another soft smack of lips against his heated cheek, and, God forbid, he splutters again as the boiling blood inside his veins rushes faster and faster and he swears he hears it pumping inside his ears – it’s piercing, louder than the waves crashing closer and closer.

Jimin watches the older one closely, innocent eyes fixed on each movement and focused on even just the tiniest bit of a change of expression. “What are you going to do, Min Yoongi?” he rallies playfully, not aware of where it’s taking the both of them just then.

 

Because for just a short moment – a fleeting, almost non-existent period of time, simply offering enough space for a single curt thought – they lay right there in the sand of the beach that took them almost half an hour to reach, that was their silly destination after passing numerous houses and quite a few little lights behind secure windows at uncounted minutes already past midnight. In that single short moment they just lay right there with shells beneath their backs and a scent washed ashore, that would cling to their hair, to their skin, to their lips even hours after leaving. They lay right there beneath the deep dark dome of the sky, close and light. They lay right there as the wind blows through their hair and swivels up the tiny grains of sand surrounding them to make them dance waltz right there beneath the half-moon, that looks more full than empty. In that moment they just exist, nowhere in particular, just somewhere, and Yoongi feels a rush, a raw little something, that makes him turn around, cup Jimin’s cheeks and pull him in for a real kiss.

It is short – just a brief flash of lips to lips that is over in the blink of an eye, but lingers around them for even longer. It is short and everything Yoongi can think of is how plush Jimin’s lips are against his, how soft and how homely in some sort of strange way. There aren’t firecrackers going off, nor are there butterflies whirring inside his stomach – instead there are tingles, just like tiny bees, wandering up his spine and creating a comfortable buzz. It is short, but Yoongi can feel the impact even after they part.

And now here they are, nowhere in particular, with Yoongi’s large pale hands cupping Jimin’s heated cheeks while the younger’s face twists into a beautiful smile, bashful but content. Yoongi’s lips are parted in a silent exhale and he wants to just order his thoughts, just be sure of what is happening, but it all leads to nothing because in the next second Jimin urges forward and they are kissing once more, a little bit more planned maybe, as well.

Jimin feels the heat in his cheeks take over his entire body and Yoongi’s palms cupping his face feel like they don’t belong anywhere else. He goes slack under the soft stroke of a thumb right over the apple of his cheek and if he wouldn’t be lying down right now, his knees would have probably buckled by now.

They kiss for an eternity, Jimin is almost sure of that, but he wouldn’t want it any other way, because when it comes to Yoongi he would willingly accept the grit beneath his back until the crack of dawn arrives. And when their tongues bump into one another the younger almost whines, because that just happened, and he is not just caught inside a silly daydream again, one that either Jungkook or Taehyung have to wake him up from with a not so friendly smack against the back of his head.

Jimin wraps both of his arms around the elder’s neck, sinking in even deeper as Yoongi’s cap is swept off his head and flops down into the sand, chaotic dark locks freed. And in the blink of an eye he is lying down on his back with Yoongi hovering right above him, kissing him silly and his lips puffy.

They don’t part, at least not for a long time, as they are way too busy with discovering whole new sides of the other and tasting the salt of the sea on one another’s lips. Their heads are empty, just not capable of absorbing any kind of information, and there is nothing but a fresh breeze wafting through them while the waves soak up their scattered thoughts.

And in that moment – that fleeting period of time – they were merely existing, simply lying in the sand of a beach that took them about half an hour to reach, that was their silly destination after passing flickering street lights and a few sleepless people strolling through the cold night of October in woolen coats and waterproof boots. In that one moment cope of heaven was still arching right above them while Yoongi hovered right above the younger, forming a whole new shield against the dark that came with the moon and keeping him secure, far away from saddening thoughts that had been pestering and nagging him for far too long already. They are still just right there where they left off numerous minutes ago, but neither of them would want to be anywhere else. Because in that very moment they just exist, nowhere in particular, just somewhere, and Jimin wasn’t sure where the future would bring him, didn’t have any sort of expectations, but as long as Yoongi would be there with him, nowhere in particular seemed just fine.

 


End file.
